


Soaring Free

by Boogalee99



Series: Come Fly with Me [2]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boogalee99/pseuds/Boogalee99
Summary: Sequel to "Come Fly with Me." AU where Dick is Damian's father. Dick is back to himself after experiencing some rather...odd physical changes. Glad to be reunited with his son, he thinks nothing of the Team's reaction until he gets called to the cave to report on the truth (and explain why he was lying to the team for several months).Also posted on FF, same author name





	1. Chapter 1

Falling... falling... falling...

I see their bodies...

Mom. Dad. Bruce. Jason. Tim. Barbara...

Everyone I know, falling faster and faster until, the last body...

With a gasp, I sit up, feeling the sweat rolling down my spine. I try to shake the fear from my mind and body, forget that last image in the terrifying nightmare. I drag my hands down my face. I force myself to realize that it was just a dream.

A grunt from the warm figure previously curled into my side instantly eases my anxiety. Gently, I reach over and pull the small boy into my lap, burying my face in his soft ebony hair.

My son. My absolutely beautiful son.

He stirs slightly from his sleep. His adorably cracking voice whispers through the darkness. "Dad?"

The final fears from my dream flee. Pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, I say, "It's okay, Dami. Go back to sleep."

It's a testament to how tired he is, that he falls back asleep without complaint. My little Damian.

Damian Grayson. I adore the way it sounds, the way my son proudly wears my family name.

Richard "Dick" John Grayson and his son, Damian. I don't think that the sound of it will ever stop making me smile.

The thought of how close I had come to losing him... my grip around my son tightens inadvertently.

My mind flashes back to the events of the previous months.

"Tt. I could've swung down myself, you know."

"I know. You can't fault me for wanting to hold my baby boy, though."

I grin as I remember his disgruntled look. The smile fades as I remember what followed the happy memory.

"Stay put. Under no circumstances are you to get in the range of fire for that...man."

We had been tracking down a man who was trying to complete some sort of time ray. Just as we finally managed to track him, he had completed the gun. I had taken one glance at what the ray could do and knew instantly that there was no possible way that I would allow my son to risk being hit with it.

The fight had actually been going pretty well, for once. I had taunted the criminal enough to make him him frustrated and had gotten close enough for hand-to-hand combat.

"I've seen kids shoot better with Red Rider BB guns!"

"Did a blind cow teach you how to aim?"

I was about to disarm the man when Damian poked his head around the corner. Time seemed to slow, and fear like I had never known overcame me as the felon pointed his ray at my son and without thinking, I leapt in front of the barrel.

I shudder as I remember the unbearable pain. I had passed out not long after the ray began to take effect, and, next thing I knew, I was in the Batcave. Of course, being the excellent the father that I am, my first thought was of my son.

"Damian! Where's Damian?"

It took a second for me to realize what was wrong with me. My body was smaller, my voice higher pitched, my muscles weaker. Thankfully, my mind was fine. I was just physically thirteen.

The next few months, I was consumed with regaining my physical prowess. I felt the need to get out in the field, but... Nightwing is not 13. In order to go out, I needed a different alias...

"It would be more efficient for Father to take on the role of Robin. His experience and intelligence would prove extremely useful in a case such as this. There really is no reason that he shouldn't be Robin."

I had felt an overflow of love at that moment. Dami was offering to give up his title, for me.

"Bruce, tomorrow night, Robin will accompany Batman. Tonight, however, is reserved for father-son bonding."

I breath deeply as I remember the glorious feeling of soaring through the air between skyscrapers, of seeing a mother smile as she was reunited with her daughter. There is something that feels inherently good about helping others.

And then the Team happened. It was great; to be able to save the world, work with the Justice League (without the mountains of paperwork you had to do when you are a full fledged leaguer) and to just hang out... Before I knew it, I was acting my physical age, rather than my emotional and chronological one.

And, even worse, I began neglecting my own son.

Any remnants of a smile fade away as I remember the day that I came home from the mountain to find Damian beating away ruthlessly on a training dummy.

"What's wrong?! WHAT'S WRONG! You're asking me what's wrong? Why don't you just ask your precious team what's wrong, since that's all you seem to care about!"

I shudder as I recall his words.

"I just want to have my dad back. I know I'm not a normal kid. My personality is a bit intense, and I know that you probably get annoyed by me a lot, and I understand that you probably have more fun with other people and that you like to let loose in a way that you can't around me, but-"

My heart had broken. I felt like the worst father ever, having turned my child into a pariah.

But we talked. Heaven forbid it, we actually talked. And things started to get better.

Christmas was absolutely amazing. Damian... his gift was absolutely amazing.

"Um, Dad? Does this mean that you like it?"

"I love it, Damian. Just like I love you."

Then New Years came, with it a Justice League crisis, and then we finally caught the man who changed me, and then...

"It's me, Dami... Kiddo, even if I could change what had happened, I wouldn't. You know why? Because it brought us closer. Sure, it was weird and odd and uncomfortable at times, but our relationship is better than ever, and I wouldn't change that for the world."

And now, here I am. Back to my 26 year old self. Here I am, clutching my son to my chest mere hours after catching the bad guy.

Any thought of the reaction of the team passes from my mind as I drift off to much needed sleep with a little smile on my face.

In the morning, I wake up to find myself spread eagle on the bed, covers thrown to the side, with Damian curled into a ball on my chest. As I watch the cat-like boy rise and fall with my breathing, I can't help but chuckle. Little D is just adorable.

He lazily opens an eye and glares at me before readjusting his position. My left hand reaches up to come through his hair and my right goes to trace light patterns on his back. Just as I am about to fall back asleep, my JLA communicator starts to beep.

Groaning, I gradually shift the both of us closer to the side of the bed; Damian completely refuses to move off of me. Eventually, I'm close enough to the bedside table to pick up the communicator and shove it in my ear.

"'Ello?" I grudgingly answer.

"Nightwing."

I sit straight up in bed, ignoring Dami's angry muttering as he rolls off of me.

"Kaldur! What's up, dude?"

For a while, there is a silence on the other end of the line, and I wonder what is going through Kaldur's mind. Then: "We-the team-would like an explanation."

My eyebrow shoot up. For Aqualad, his tone is very passive aggressive. I swallow, suddenly nervous. Yeah..the little fact that I ran out on the team last night after...everything.

Without saying anything.

"Yeah, about that..." I wince, but I can't help but smile as Dami glares at the comm before huddling up in the covers on my legs. "Umm... I'm actually Nightwing? The original Robin? But I was de-aged?"

I can practically feel Kaldur's leveling, cool look. "Report to the cave in 20 minutes."

Despite the fact that he now knows I'm older than him, Kaldur manages to keep his voice expectant and commanding. I feel strangely proud of him for that fact.

Groaning, I yank my knees out from under Damian, ignoring his cry of protest, and start to get dressed in civies. It feels good to be in my own clothers; thirteen year old me had an odd sense of style.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a light blue button down shirt. Rolling my sleeves up to my elbows (come on, I know girls love it) I rummage around the floor with my feet to find acceptable shows. Finally, I find some worn, white Converse. All the while, Dami has been glaring at me from his blanket fortress. "Father," he calls out imperiously. "Where are you going?"

I'm not Damian's father for nothing. I can hear the underlying tone of worry in his voice. Where are you going? I just got you back.

Pausing in putting on my dark sunglasses, I ruffle his hair, grinning as his slightly indignant huff. "Emergency at Mount Justice, Lil D. Gotta go. Don't worry, I'll come straight back."

He folds his arms across his chest. "Of course you will, because I'm coming with you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? And why is that?"

"-tt- To remind them of who you really belong to, obviously."

I chuckle and, bending down, kiss the top of his head. "I think I'll be fine, Damain."

He only stares at me, then rolls out of bed and begins getting dressed. I roll my eyes good-naturedly. I know that he would stay put if I truly wanted him to, but if I'm being honest, I want him to come. I want to spend time with him, I want to try to make him laugh and make him smile, or, heaven forbid it, giggle.

Damian knows it, too.

As he finishes getting ready, a mischievous thought pops into my mind. As soon as his glasses are placed on his nose, I grab him and swing himself around so that he is on my back. He yells in surprise, instinctively tightening his legs around my waist, and I cackle. Before he has time to truly process what just happened, I'm sprinting out the door toward the kitchen.

We pass a confused Alfred on the way, who has time only to call out a "Master Dick!" before we are past him. I only slow when we reach the kitchen, pausing to pass a banana up to Damian and keep an apple for myself. Damian's unintelligible grumbles are like music to my ears, but he doesn't try to get out of my grip.

He can deny it all he wants, but I know that Damian is a cuddle monster.

With Dami still on my back, annoyingly (and intentionally) chewing his banana in my ear, I make my way to the Batcave.

Just because Damian is my son and we love each other doesn't mean that we don't ever purposefully irritate one another.

We toss my apple core and Damian's peel in the trash before we go to stand before the zeta tube. I smile softly as I feel Dami slip his hand into mine.

"Ready, kiddo?"

He scowls, but tightens his grip on my hand. "Of course, Father."

I smile and quickly key in the end destination. We walk into the zeta tube and faintly hear the computer call out our designations.

My smile falters, however, as we are met with the glares of seven angry teenagers.


	2. Chapter 2

A myriad of emotions flickers across all their faces.

Across M'gann, there is shock, but not as much as I expected. Surprisingly, I think that I see a note of pity in her expression.

In Artemis's eyes, I can see anger, a cold fury that rings echoes from a dark past, dredged up horrendously against the light of the present.

In the twitch in Zatanna's nose, I notice discomfort as she apparently recalls our... exchange from a few weeks ago. There, hidden too, is also the sadness of one who has lost yet another person she cared about.

Rocket's wide-set, assured stance tells me that, though she might not have been on the team for all that long, she still understands the magnitude of the caper I had pulled. Just by looking at her, I knew she wasn't going to take anymore bull crap.

The whiteness is Wally's clenched knuckles hurts me more than I expected it to. Despite the age gap, I sincerely like the redhead, and I was hoping to remain friends with him despite the ordeal. Now, though, with the sting of betrayal grasped in those closed fists, I'm losing hope for that brighter future.

The tips of Conners ears are red with fury. I can imagine his thought path. He told the Team about the shields, Artemis revealed her father's identity, and M'gann showed everyone her true form. Now, he is wondering why I didn't just tell the team then. I find myself wondering that as well.

Kaldur is the only one that I can't get a read on. His face is completely neutral, his body held still, his eyes oddly blank. Somehow, that scares me more than any of the other, more obvious reactions.

Now, being the charmer that I am, I hesitantly pull Damian closer, an arm draped around his shoulders, and wave my free hand. "Umm, hi?"

A blur, and then I'm left clutching my left cheek as Wally runs back into place, this time crossing his arms. "Dude," he states. "Not cool."

Only my arm around Damian's shoulder stops his from beating KF then and there.

No one says a word as Zatanna walks up to me. She bites her lip, and I can read nothing on her face.

She clearly winds back, and I tighten my hold on Dami. Seconds later, my right cheek matches my left, though Zatanna's slap stung more than Wally's punch, which I'm sure will leave a bruise.

My face throbhing, I sigh and survey everyone. "Anyone else?"

Artemis stalks up and stands in front of me. Without hesitation, she draws back, and, next thing I know, my nose is bleeding profusely.

M'gann frowns as she uses her telekinesis to dump a bucket of water on my head.

Sopping wet, I can't help but sigh in relief when Conner glares at me but keeps his distance.

Raquel, whom I had only fought alongside for a short time, decides of just glare at me.

Aqualad remains forever immovable, unshakable. Unreadable.

I shiver almost imperceptibly in the cool of the mountain and feel Damian tighten under my grip. For the first time, Aqualad speaks. "Who is this?"

I protectively shift, so that Damian is slightly behind me. He doesn't protest; for once, he allows my over protective tendencies to win over his stubborn will. Defiantly, I raise a tone-downed bat-glare and announce, "This is the current Robin, my son."

There is silence, and then Wally says, "You have got to be kidding me."

I sigh. This is going to be a long day.

"So, the man that we caught yesterday... he turned you into a teenager?" Raquel shakes her head. "Man, that's just plain messed up."

We are seated on the couches in the main room. I am in the one stand alone chair, with Damian in my lap, and the rest of the Team is spread between the two couches.

Conner nods. "It is messed up." He levels a look at me. "What I don't understand is why he felt the need to lie to us."

I wince. Damian has, miraculously, remained silent for nearly the entire time, as if he sensed that this was something that I needed to do on my own. I hug my son closer and rest my chin on his head. "Imagine the chaos that would be made if the bad guys figured out that one of the most trusted members of the League, one that most likely knew the secret identities of every member of the League, ever, was turned into a kid. Do you realize how many men and women would scramble to try to capture me while I was vulnerable? How many civilians would be caught in the middle?" I shake my head. "No, Nightwing had to go on an off-world mission, and a new Robin had to appear."

"That still doesn't justify-"

All of the sudden, Damian leaps off my lap. He walks over and grabs the front of Conner's shirt, getting right into the Kryptonian's face. Were it not for the look on Dami's face, the situation would have been quite comical.

"Listen here, you plebeian, Kryptonian, clone scum," he hisses. The entire room is deathly still. "My father may not be perfect, but he's closer than any other man on this God-forsaken planet! What he did was truly the best option, so you shut your trap and start acting grateful that he even deigned you worthy of his presence, you despicable ingrate!"

I decide that now is probably a good time to pull Lil D off. As I grab him, he continues to spew insults. "You cretin! You wouldn't know a good man if he - mmmhhmm!" I clamp my hand over his mouth before he finishes his sentence.

"Quite enough, Robin, thank you," I say as I set him down in the chair I had just vacated. He glares at me, but, thankfully, keeps his mouth shut.

I turn back around and face my team. "I know that what I did was questionable at best, but you have our understand that I truly liked all of you." I crack a grin. "Though I may look older, honestly, I have never aged mentally and emotionally past fifteen."

Everyone stares at me for a minute. Silently, Zatanna stands up and walks out of the room. She is followed by Rocket, Conner, and Artemis, leaving me with Dami, Kaldur, Wally, and M'gann.

For the longest while, no one says anything. Finally, Kaldur breaks the oppressive silence. "I thank you for your explanation." He had yet to make sure facial expression. "I ask that you give us time to adjust, consider, and counsel together until you return to the Mountain. We will let you know whether the Team wishes for you to remain with us." With that, he left.

Miss Martian approaches me. "You're alright?" I look at her in surprise.

She bites her lip. "I've known about your age ever since that mission in Bialya. It was right after you and Robin had fought, and the emotions associated with the memory were so strong that they just kind of... projected themselves the instant I reached into the repressed memories."

I sigh. Gingerly, she reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. I have to admit that it feels odd to be taller than her, after so many months of being the shortest on the Team. Gently, she says, "I just figured that you would tell us when you were ready. Otherwise, it really didn't affect how the Team worked, so I figured it wasn't important."

Suddenly, I embrace her. The way the Team had reacted had startled me. I expected the punches, but I honestly would have preferred yelling and screaming to the silent treatment. As she wraps her arms around me, I become acutely aware of the fact that I am still damp from the water that she dropped on me.

I pull back. "Wait a minute." I frown. "If you knew all along, why did you dump water on me?"

She giggles. "Remember the time when you and Wally...?"

I groan. "You have got to be kidding me. This was all for revenge?"

She smiles, but doesn't answer as she flies off.

Now, it's just me, Damian, and Wally.

I sit down on he couch next to Wally and feel Damian's eyes follow me. I know that he is wondering what exactly I am doing, but I ignore my son's scrutiny and keep my attention focused on KF.

After the longest two minutes of my life, Wally speaks, looking straight ahead and refusing to meet my gaze. "You were the first, weren't you?"

I'm about to ask, first what? when I realize what he was talking about. "Yes, I was," I reply softly.

More silence, and then: "You saved my life, you know."

My head flicks up sharply.

"When I was little," he continues, "my home life was... toxic, to say the least. It just kept getting worse and worse, but I never told anyone."

He hangs his head, and I hardly dare to breath.

"But then... then I heard news of a new kind of hero in Gotham, a teenager, who was somehow able to fight crime and still smile." He takes a shaky breath. "And I thought, if he could go through all that, could see the darkest pits of hell and still smile, then I could make it through my own situation."

I hesitantly place my arm around his shoulder. He doesn't react to the contact at all, but finishes his story. "The next week, I looked up the Central City Precinct in the town directory and walked there after school. Not a month later, Uncle Barry and Aunt I had full custody."

Abruptly, he stands up and starts to pace. "And then-" his voice raises drastically in volume- "I get to meet who I think is the fourth or fifth Robin. I get to meet get legacy of the guy who gave me of courage to leave. And he is every bit as cool and fun as I hoped he would be, not to mention his wicked sense of humor."

He is breathing heavily, and he runs a hand through his wild red hair. He finally turns out face me. "Dude, you were my hero. You still are my hero." A tear leaks down his face, and I surge up, pulling him into a firm hug.

My older brother instinct (which normally only activates around Jason and Tim) goes into hyperdrive, and I feel an almost uncontrollable urge to protect the boy in my arms. Tightening my hold, I let the speedster sob into my chest and rock a little side to side.

When his tears begins to subside, I pull back, setting my hands on his shoulders. Once again, I am struck by the height difference. Setting the thought aside, I make a snap decision.

I take off my sun glasses.

Wally breathes in sharply. "You..."

I smile gently at him. "My name is Richard Grayson, but my friends call me Dick."

I hold out my hand and chuckle slightly as the amazed teen shakes my hand. "You..." He starts again.

I grin, and then motion Damian forward from where he has sat, forgotten. He stands in front of me, and I take off his glasses before placing my hands on my son's shoulders. "And this is my son, Damain."

Damian sniffs. "Pleasure, Wallace."

Wally is till staring at us, awestruck. I pat his arm. "You're family now, Wally. And I always looks after my little brothers."

As Damian and I walk towards the zeta tube station, Wally calls out, "Dude, can I finally get your phone number now?"

I chuckle and am almost out the door when he yells again, "Wait! LITTLE brother?!"


	3. Chapter 3

"I... I understand, sir. I'll collect my belongings in the morning. Of course, commisioner."

I sigh and hang up the phone. Turns out Richard Grayson was gone a little too long to keep his job.

I plop down on my bed. My elbows find their way to my knees, and my head meets my hands. No straight answer from the Team, no job, no apartment (Dami and I had had to move out after three months; no landlord likes an empty lot for long, no matter if people are paying. Maintenance needs to be done, after all). I guess I'm starting again from the ground up.

Again.

At least I still have the league?

My eyes start to water. It's been a stressful year, and my body is feeling the strain. Distantly, I hear the soft padding of feet and feel a weight next to me. I smile shaking as Damian burrows his way onto my lap. My arms close around him and I laugh uneasily, kissing the top of his head.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

At the title, tears start to stream down my face. Names have always held a special place in my heart. I guess it started with my mother, calling me her little Robin. Then, the line snapped, and I took on a new name: orphan. Not long after that, I became Wayne's ward. At the time, I frowned at the title, but now, it's something I secretly love; it's a gift from my second father.

But then I started school.

And the names never stopped coming. Circus freak. Charity case. Gypsy trash. That last one always hurts the most; in it, they defile my entire family, my whole history. The first time someone said it, I practically went into shock.

Over the course of my life, significant events have always been marked by another name. Brother. Hero. Genius. Officer.

But none so important as Dad.

The tears start for real, and I hear Damain let out a little grunt as my hug tightens. "I... I lost my job at the precinct."

A voice sounds from the doorway. "Well, why don't you apply to the Gotham PD?"

My head shoots up to see Tim leaning against my doorway. He pushes off and enters the room. In an instant, a disgruntled Dami is off my lap and my arms are around my youngest brother. "Timmy!"

He chuckles and returns my hug. "Hey, Dick."

I pull back, keeping my hand on his shoulders and glance over him. Too long hair falling in his eyes, slim but defined muscles, sparkling blue eyes. All in all, my baby brother. "When did you get here?"

He smirks. "About ten minutes ago." He jerks his head towards Damian. "Little D over there was supposed to tell you."

I turn towards my son and raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. "Uncle Tim is here."

"Thank you," I respond dryly. "Very helpful."

He only raises an eyebrow back. "Of course."

My tears gone, I wrap one arm around Tim and another around Dami. "So, why did you come? Not that you're not welcome," I hastily add on.

He shrugs. "Wanted to check on you." He pauses, but then looks a little embarrassed. "Also, I needed a break from the Titans. As much as I love the guys..." He trails off.

Damian slips out the door, mumbling an obviously made up excuse about having a Dickens book to finish. I appreciate the sentiment none the less, and lead Tim over to the bed, where we both sit down and length against the headboard. We sit in silence for a few moments before he speaks again. "How are you handling everything?"

I sigh and drop my head down on his shoulder; it's a position we've adopted many times over, with one brother flopping his head down and the other leaning on top. It's become a source of comfort for both of us.

I've discovered that that's the best thing about brothers. You might annoy each other to Hell and back, but then moments like this come along. No matter how much biting, scratching and punching goes on, you just fit right back into place in moments like these. No matter the distance between you, your brothers always have your back.

I force myself mind to consider the question seriously. How am I handling this? "I..." My voice cracks. "I... Not very well."

Crap. The tears are back.

Tim, wonderful, amazing, quiet Tim just puts his arm around me, letting me choose whether to continue or not.

I sit there sniffling pathetically for a few moments, before continuing. "I mean... it's like this whole thing was designed to highlight my shortcomings. Yes, it was a difficult trial, but... it didn't make me ignore my son. I did that. It didn't make me lie to dozens of people. I did that. The only thing it made me do was turn young. I did the rest!"

I sigh, but relax slightly when Tim starts running his hands through my hair. I smile as I remember doing the same when he had trouble sleeping when he first came to the Manor. What goes around comes around, I think randomly.

When it becomes apparent that I'm not going to say anymore, Tim clears his throat. I hold back a chuckle. Tim inherited the normal Wayne inability to discuss feelings. I'm the only one immune, oddly enough. Even my son didn't escape it.

"Listen, Dick..." His head grows heavier on mine and he sighs as well. If I wasn't a 26 year old man, I'd label this a prime example of teenaged angst. But, I am a man, so...it's perfectly okay, right?

Right?

I redirect my mind again. "Nothing really excuses the way that you acted," Tim says.

I shoot upright and turn to glare at him. "And that's supposed to help how exactly?" I demand.

He sits up as well and shrugs. "It's the truth. But you know what? That doesn't matter any more."

I turn my whole body to face him and sit criss cross apple sauce (okay, maybe I'm not quite an adult yet...). "What do you mean?"

He only shrugs helplessly again. "The past exists for a reason, you know? It's there to guide us, to help us learn and progress." His voice grows more certain as he continues speaking. "So let history do its job, okay?! Learn from it! Listen to it! Don't repeat it, but utilize it!"

He sighs and cards his hand through his ebony hair. "Just... just let history do it job."

Huh. That...

Let history do its job...

I shake my head. "You're right, like always."

He smirks. "Of course I am."

I laugh as he stands up and smooths down his clothes.

I hold out a hand and he yanks me off the bed. A twinkle gleams in his cerulean eyes. "Wanna spar?"

I sigh, trying and failing to keep the grin off of my face. "Why is it that everyone seems to think that whenever I'm upset, I need to spar?"

He knocks me on the arm. "Oh, come on. It's been Wayne thing." Laughing, we head towards the training area.

The phrase "It's a Wayne thing" has become a bit of a running joke between me, Jay, and Tim. Though we were not born Waynes, there are certain very odd traits that we all share, the need to punch things among them.

We keep joking around and messing with each other as we dress down. Finally, we enter the sparing ring.

"You sure you don't need to pull your hair back in a pony tail, Timmy?" I joke as we stand across from one another.

He rolls his eyes as he bends his knees in preparation. "As if you're one to talk, Rapunzel."

I laugh as I launch my attack, and the game begins.

Each member of my family spars differently. With Damian, we both have the natural Grayson Grace, and sparing becomes a type deadly, snake-like dance. I smirk as I remember the faces of the League the first time they saw Nightwing and Robin Spar. Granted, we wee both showing off, but I thought Barry was going to have a heart attack when we flipped out way up to the ceiling and fought across the rafters.

A jab at my abdomin that nearly knocks my breath out brings me out of the dredges of memory.

Jason is completely different. He fights more like Bruce, cold, calculated strikes that utilize his large stature. His attacks have a raw power behind that are rarely paralleled.

Though Bruce and Jason are similar, Bruce has a kind of finesse to him the belies his size. He reminds me of a mako shark, quick and brutal.

I smile as my kick forces Tim to flip back, making him give up a few feet in retreat.

Tim, though, is something else entirely. He doesn't rely on flexibility, size, or speed. With him, sparing is a mind game. All of us are geniuses (it's a Wayne thing), but I'd be willing to bet that Tim is among the 20 smartest people in the world. His mind works at such a speed that his strikes always serve his purpose, whatever that purpose may be.

With Tim, you don't spar against the speed of the body. With Tim, you're fighting the speed of thought.

Time seems to slow as our fight grows more intense. Every hit, every punch, every kick moves with lethal precision as my individual focuses solely on the task at hand. We find a rhythm, moving back and forth, exchanging blows at breakneck frequency. I imagine that to the casual observer, our motions would be blurred, incomprehensible.

I breath deeply, and time slows another notch as I find my opening. A deliberately missed punch here, a sweeping kick there, an ankle hooked around a knee, and...

"Dead." My arms across his throat.

The sound of clapping echoes around the Cave. "Well done, Father."

Tim and I both turn our heads to find Dami watching us from the chair at the computer. He raises an eyebrow at us. "Who knew that Uncle Tim had it in him?"

I sigh and shake my head. Standing up, I pull Tim with me, both of us panting and dripping with sweat. I will never understand what, exactly, Dami has against Tim and Jay.

As Timmy and I chug down some water, Damian hops off the chair and walks over to us. I raise an eyebrow at his workout clothes. "Do you wanna spar?" I ask.

He scoffs. "-tt- Of course not. I wouldn't want to make Uncle Tim look bad." He looks at me, and a little hopeful gleam enters his eyes. "I was hoping that you would fly with me, Dad."

I look over at Tim, who waves me off. As he leans against the computer console, he says, "Go on, Dickie-bird. You know that you're never quiete as happy as when you're soaring." He heaves a breath as he sits down at the computer. "I've been needing to dig up some archived files for a case I'm working on anyway."

I shrug as Dami grabs my hand and pulls me toward the trapeze. "Suit yourself!" I call over my shoulder.

Damian and I spend the next hour or so working on his quadruple. By the end, I'm sweating even more, but we're both grinning like idiots.

This? This is a Grayson thing. Graysons are never as happy as when they are soaring, high above the ground, free from gravity and free from reality.

As I go to shower, my comm beeps from where it's hidden within the pocket of my sweatpants. "Nightwing," I mumble past my granola bar.

"Hey, Wing."

"Hood!" The granola bar drops to the ground, forgotten. "What's up, dude?"

I hear several grunts from the other end of the line. "Not much. Say, you remember that drug ring that you helped me link back to Scarecrow?"

"Umm, yeah. You actually voluntarily asked for help."

He groans. "It was not voluntary. Kori forced me to."

I snicker. "Is there a point behind this?" A gun shot rings in the background. I sigh. "Are you using guns, Hood?"

"I'll have you know that those shots were not from me!" he replies indignantly. "Anyway, on a different though related note, you were on, like, a mini Justice League for a while, right?"

"Umm yeah." I freeze in place. "How is this related...?"

"See, here's the thing." He grunts, and I wince in sympathy at the implied hit. "Scarecrow's got them."

"What?"

"They were snooping around his base and they got themselves captured." I hear a dull thud as a body drops on the other end. "I normally would be able to get them myself, but they're gassed."

I curse under my breath as I run back to the main room in the Cave. "On it."

"Coordinates sent."

"Recieved."

"Suspected Ivy involvement."

"Lovely."

"No jokes."

I yell at Tim and Dami to suit up as I pull on my own uniform.

"How about his princess?"

"No hammer."

I nearly sigh in relief. "Red Robin, Robin and Nightwing en route. ETA 20 minutes max."

He groans. "Does the Replacement have to come?"

I roll my eyes as three motorcycles run roaring out of the cave.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter I had pre-written. I had time and just wanted to get them all out while I had Internet connection. Enjoy!

I find myself wishing that my bike could go faster as Red Robin, Robin and I race through the dark streets of Gotham. I rip through turns and hop heedlessly over medians in my race to get to the warehouse where Red Hood located Scarecrow and the Team. The Team might be upset with me, but my older-brotherly instinct is rearing its head at the thought that something might happen to those under my protection.

Wally. Oh, gosh, Wally. The teen that I just adopted as my third little brother is there. I feel my expression harden. No one harms my family.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the Robins and I come to a screeching halt outside of the warehouse. Barely pausing to activate the bike's security progams, we grapple up to the roof and scan the plethora of skylights for the Team. My heart stops as my gaze land on Robin, though; the realization that this is my first mission with my son since the incident strikes through my mind.

My breath catches a bit before I force myself anxiety back down my throat. I make myself recall the fact that we went on countless patrols as Nightwing and Robin before the issue, and nothing went seriously wrong. Damian is more than capable.

I close my eyes for a brief moment and open them to find both Robin and Red Robin looking at me in concern. I wave off their gazes before glancing down the skylight, where I see Hood surrounded by motionless bodies and angry henchmen.

Without a further thought, I concisely gesture with one hand and Red Robin, Robin, and I enter the building.

We land just around Hood, in time for him to take out the last guard with a single, brutal punch. His raised eyebrow is evident despite his mask. "What took you all so long?"

Damian only scoffs ("-tt-") while I survey my brother. His brown leather jacket is splattered with blood (not his own) and his black Kevlar uniform beneath has a few dents and smudges here and there, but all in all, he looks fine. I note with a pleased smile that his guns are still holstered in his belt.

Even I can feel Tim's eye roll beneath his domino mask. "Can it, Hood."

I lightly punch Hood in the shoulder. "Good to see you too, dude. Situation?"

He rolls his shoulders back and cracks his neck, knowing full well that Tim hates the sound. "I was all set to bust the trade tonight and was just getting started when the little league came busting in and got themselves captured. Scarecrow sent reinforcements pouring in and I lost track of them in the flood. I only saw enough to know that at least mini-Flash got hit with the fear gas."

I scowl and note my brothers' surprise at the expression. I felt the need to help my little brother rip through my body and a plan instantly formed in my brain.

"Robin, Red Rob, you guys locate the Team. Find them, get them to Mount Justice. It's been awhile since we've had action from Scarecrow, so chances are you'll need to synthesize a new antidote. I'm trusting you two to protect KF and anyone else who got hit." They nod solemnly back in agreement.

"Hood." I turn to look him head on and he snap to attention. "You and I are on Scarecrow. This ends here and now. Understood?" He grunts his consent.

I make eye contact with Robin and twin smirks rise on our faces. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

Red Robin leads Robin through the dusty vents of the warehouse. He suppresses the urge to groan as the brat says, "Are you sure this is the correct direction?"

Tim has always had a shaky relationship with his nephew. Don't get him wrong, he loves the kid, but their personalities just... clash. Just because they're family doesn't mean that they have to get along one hundred percent of the time.

Tim sighs as he glances at the map displayed on his holo-glove. He had hacked the tracked placed on Kid Flash's suit and had overplayed on a map of the warehouse, complete with ducts and vents. "Yes, Robin, I'm positive we're going in the right direction."

The comm buzzes and Hood's voice comes over the line. "Enjoying some family bonding time, Replacement?"

Nightwing's chiding voice answers. "Come now, Hood. Leave the poor boys be."

"-tt- Must you, Father?" Damian drawls from behind Red Robin.

Tim draws an a calming breath. "Hush, all of you." He eyes the map and hangs a right.

Nightwing's infamous cackle echoes down the line. "Roger that, RR. Nightwing and Red Hood about to engage anyway."

A distant bang, a macabre laugh from Hood, and the line goes dead.

Tim nearly sighs on relief. He loves his family, he really does, but their ceaseless pratter can make it difficult to think to the highest degree. A few more turns, a bump down from the third floor to the second, and next thing he knows, Red Robin is gazing down at the team through the vent.

Two armed guards stand at the very edge of the room; they almost look fearful. And for good reason, too...

Every member of the team had quite clearly been gassed. Miss Martian is passed out in the corner, but everyone else is shaking on the ground. Zatanna, Rocket, and Kaldur seem to be caught in the grips of vicious nightmares, kicking out, grunting, and yelling. Artemis is just tossing and turning, while Kid Flash's movements are to quick to be discernible.

Superboy's reaction to the fear gas is by far the most violent. Chained to the wall, he yells and screams, pulling on the chains with his immense strength. The wall cracks with the force of his thrashing, and Tim knows it's just a matter of time before the Kryptonian brings the room down on their heads.

"No time to lose," he mutters, kicking out the vent and surprising the guards. One well placed punch later, and Guard 1 is down. Red Robin glances over and notes that Rob had taken down Guard 2 just as efficiently.

Closing his eyes briefly, time slows as Tim dissects the situation.

Each of the Batboys have been blessed with one extremely unique talent. Dick is perhaps the greatest acrobat on the face of the planet; Jason seems to possess an innate knowledge of human motivation and has the capacity to intimidate nearly any human being on the face of the planet while still demonstrating a certain small level of compassion to those in need of it; Damian's superpower lies in his remarkable mental immovability.

Tim's gift is his mind. And when he utilizes it to its full capacity, he is someone to be feared.

In less than a second, he casts the teen heroes in a triage system. Falling within the low risk category, Artemis and Miss Martian have clearly fought their way through the worst of the poison. At a moderate level, Aqualad, Zatanna, and Rocket have kept their powers and abilities contained and under control. Posing the most danger to both themselves and those around them, Kid Flash and Superboy are set into extreme risk.

Dozens of likely scenarios run through his mind in an instant, the most prominent and most likely hanging around for all of a second before a solid, firm plan takes its place.

The entire process took less than three seconds. In the blink of an eye, he has pulled out three needled syringes and thrown them to his nephew. "Sedate the speedster and the clone; stick two in KF so that he doesn't burn the drugs off too fast. Be careful, Wing would kill me if you got hurt."

For once, the kid doesn't argue with Tim and instead takes off to do as he said. Without stopping the thoughts and scenarios running through his brain, he takes four long strides and is by the Martin's side. Mumbling to himself, he says, "The Martian physiology is flexible enough that her body should have subconsciously morphed to the point where the gas should no longer affect her." He flips the girl on her side and checks her breathing. "Ergo, if my theory is correct..." He sets her back on her back. "And it should be..." He scans the rest of her body for any visible injuries. "Then she should just be in a recovery sleep, and this..." He pushes her hair away from her neck and tweaks a nerve. The girl jerks up, wide awake. Tim smiles in satisfaction. "...should wake her up."

The Martian sits stick straight, her heaving breaths echoing throughout the now quiet chamber. Robin has made himself useful upon sedating the speedster and Kryptonian, and is now checking on the three moderate risk heroes.

Miss Martian's wide eyes come to rest on Red Robin. "Wh...who?"

Time gives her a tight smile. "Red Robin, Nightwing's brother." All traces of amusement leave his face. "The Team got here by your Bioship, correct?" She nods.

Tim stands, the situations and likely outcomes running through his brain in a neverending loop.

Damian comes to stand before him, waiting for the genius' thoughts to organize themselves. Robin knows the instant that they do; Red Robin subconsciously strengthens his stance with the assurance of a plan. The young man eyes his nephew. "We need to leave," he states clearly. He turns to the Martian. "How many can you carry?"

She shakily rises to her feet, surveying her team members. "Two for sure, possible three if they're the girls. I'm not back to full strength yet."

Internally, Tim wince. He had hoped that she could carry four. Mentally shaking his head he instantly reformulates his plan. "Fine. You have Artemis, the magician, and Rocket. I've got the other three." Tim shoots a glare at Damian as the boy protests.

"Robin, I'm trusting you with scouting duty and protection. Miss M and I aren't going to be able to fight; you are our eyes, ears, and weapon. Our lives are in your hands."

The boy pales slightly but nods anyway. Damian knows that his uncle is right. He's too small to carry anyone quickly and time is clearly of the essence. Quickly, he helps Tim station the three boys around his shoulder and back and watches as Miss Martian bites her lip and lifts up her female teammates. Easing the door to the room open, he casts his gaze about and motions Red Robin and the Martian forward. They creep down the halls, and Damian is alarmed to note that Tim's breathing is growing labored from the stress of carrying three large teenagers.

Following the map displayed on his holo-glove, Damian leads the odd group through the meandering hallways until they are one turn away from the back exit. He glances back, the half-shadows illuminating the three floating girls like gruesome cadavers and covering Red Robin to make him look like a beast from a nightmare.

Shivering slightly, Robin turns the corner and finds himself face to face with a single guard. The two stare at each other for a moment, neither one moving, before the guard's hand creeps up to his comm to send an alarm. Coming back to himself, Damian flips up and knocks him out quickly with a clean kick.

Looking about, Damian spots no other guards and so motions Red Robin and Miss Martian forward. Carefully, his fingers shaking, he disarms the security on the door and jumps when it opens with and a squeal, letting in the cool evening air.

Miss Martian, though panting from exertion and stress, directs the group to an alley and calls the Bioship. She and Tim load the team up, strapping them down to minimize their thrashing, while Damian stands guard.

Uneasiness creeps up his spine. "This is too easy..." he whispers into the cold, strangling darkness.

Not thirty seconds after the words leave his mouth, an explosion rocks the night, orange flames proving a hellish background to the fear now frozen in Damian's veins.


	5. Chapter 5

Not thirty seconds after the words leave his mouth, an explosion rocks the night, orange flames proving a hellish background to the fear now frozen in Damian's veins.

 

Initially, when Hood and I separated from the Robins, everything was just peachy.

 

Given the normal Batfamily luck, I should've known it wouldn't last. I mean, let's face it, I just got returned to my actual age and one of us has literally come back from the dead before. We have the worst luck on the face of the planet.

 

Ducking out of the air vents, we had taken down a group of baddies three or four rooms away from our target. Hood and I had a rapport that was completely unique, and our battle banter reflected it.

 

I punch out one baddie to my right and note with a smile that Hood has yet to take out the guns holstered at various locations around his body.

 

Moving on to the next group of rather reluctant henchmen, I call out to Hood, "Hanging in there all right, little brother?"

 

He literally stops in the middle of his own group to just look at me for a second before kicking out with his right leg.  "Who are you calling little, shorty?"

 

I chuckle and move on to the next group.

 

We move in tandem, effectively and efficiently taking out every baddie that comes at us. There's no real need for us to talk, but our back-and-forth seems to strike no little amount of fear into the hearts of the henchmen, so we continue chattering.

 

"Hey Hood, you seen the most recent Captain America?"

 

"Wing, now is not the time to get into Iron Man vs. Cap."

 

"Hey Hood, you remember those animated X-Men shows we watched when we were kiss."

 

"Nightwing, when those were airing, I didn't have consistent access to TV."

 

"Oh yeah. Well how about-"

 

He sounds exasperated. "No, I did not watch the return of Gilmore Girls, I have not seen Agents of SHIELD, I have not seen the Phantom of the Opera live yet, and I have not watched the latest episode of My Little Pony!" He accentuates his last statement by punching out the last baddie in his group. Shaking out his hand, he shakes his head at me in disappointment. "Still can't believe you're a Brony, dude."

 

I roll my eyes at him from my position on the floor, tying up my own henchmen. "Don't blame me, blame the kid. I started watching them with Rob when he was little and then just never stopped." I stand up and brush of my hands. "That's pretty normal for parents, you know. You'll be on the couch watching Bob the Builder and suddenly realize that the kid went to bed two episodes ago, and you just never changed the chanel."

 

Hood snorts. A sudden clattering of metal on concrete drawdown our attention and we both casually whirl around to see one last frightened bad guy shaking in his boots, gun forgotten at his feet. Apparently my awesome parenting skills have scared him stiff.

 

Hood and I exchange glances. Shrugging, he takes four steps forward and clocks the guy out with a single punch. As I pull more zip ties out to tie him up, I call to Hood, "You know, I'm still gonna drag to see Phantom live."

 

He chuckles. "Looking forward to it, Wing."

 

We continue on through the next two rooms in a similar fashion. ("Hey, have you-" "Yes, I have seen the Piano Guys latest video, and before you ask, no, I don't feel a need to know how they got a piano there.") The henchmen fall easily before us, some occasionally even dropping their weapons and turning tail.

 

Finally, we have moved enough that our banter has slowed, to the point where we are just angrily punching bad guys in the face.

 

I glance nervously at Hood. One henchman had managed to get in a lucky and knock out the comms in his helmet, so he had ditched it, blown it up, and made due with a normal earpiece and his fall back domino mask. He was in a particularly foul mood because of it.

 

"Where are all these idiots coming from?" he yells. I pray that manages to refrain from pulling out a pistol.

 

I only huff and focus on my own group, though I agree with him. For a simple Scarecrow operation, this amount of baddies is unprecedented. Scarecrow never has some many busy bodies on hand. 

 

A flash of orange glints out of the corner of my eye, nearly causing me to miss a step. No...

 

There is only one man I can think of who would be wearing orange in an area like this.

 

In one great twisting turn, I take out my group and yell to Hood, "Change of plans! Proceed on and take down Scarecrow. I've got to look into something!"

 

I leave before he can react, though his cussing keeps me company over the comms.

 

Normally, I would have told him to watch his language, but anytime this man is involved, he takes priority over anything else.

 

I fly around corners, in some cases quite literally. Though occasionally some thug crosses into my path, they are gone before they register that I am there. My prey knows my skills to the point where I see only a flash of orange as I round each corner, nothing more, nothing less.

 

My comm buzzes. "Wing! Get your butt back here!" Expletives are still spewing across the line as I reach up and turn it off. 

 

My quarry leads me on a wild chase, across the width of the building, up and down airdu ducts, scaling fire escapes and leaping rafters.

 

As breathing becomes slightly more difficult, something changes, and instinctively I know that soon, the chase will be over. 

 

I plunge through one final doorway before finding myself in an isolated cellar. Directly in front of me is a man that I dread meeting.

 

Deathstroke.

 

~oOo~

 

Jason has officially decided that if he finds his big brother alive, he won't remain that way for long.

 

Cursing under his breath, he fights back thug after thug (seriously, where are these people coming from??) as he makes his way into Scarecrow's inner sanctum. He groans as yet more henchmen come pouring in from somewhere unseen.

 

Something snaps, and Hood sees red.  With a roar he draws two hand guns from his belt (nine millimeter Berettas, excellent precision, and, if he might add, excellently well-kept) and opens fire. He laughs viciously as thug after thug falls.

 

Oh, don't get him wrong. He's not shooting to kill, maybe only hit an artery or two at most, but if he happens to accidentally nail a bad guy in the forehead, then, well, it's no big loss, right?

 

And damn, if it doesn't feel good to finally be making some progress.

 

His guns click as he empties the clips and pauses to survey the damage. A pleased smirk rises to his face as he notices that, aside from the random groans of the injured, he's the only thing moving in the room.

 

Tucking the empty clips away, he reaches into one of his many pockets (some obvious, some not) and clicks in two fresh clips. Flipping one gun back into his belt and keeping hold of the other, he grins. "Time to kick some hay." 

 

Without anymore hesitation, he stalks across the room and body opens the door.

 

To Hell with stealth.

 

Or, maybe not, he thinks as gun shots immediately force him to duck back out of the doorway.

 

"Wing," he yells into the comm, "get your butt back here!"

 

Still explicitly cursing the day that Dick decided to become a vigilante, Jason ducks into the room under the flood of bullets. A few get lucky and ping against his Kevlar (he can't help but be glad that they aren't using anything heavier than handguns, because at this range, they'd tear through his Kevlar in seconds) leaving behind bruises that he knows will sting for the next four days. One even luckier baddie manages to nick his ear; this one, Jason marks with a glare as to kill. He openly smirks as the man blanches. Snarling, Jason opens fire of his own.

 

See, there is a difference between the infamous Red Hood and your average, everyday gun-for-hire. Sure, the mercenaries might take care of their guns, might train with them everyday, but they have nothing on Jason.

 

Jason, who knows every single inch of his guns, who has learned to the degree how off center they are, who has trained himself to utilize the kick back of the guns, not just absorb it.

 

These gunmen had nothing on him. 

 

And Jason knows it.

 

And it shows.

 

Despite the overwhelming numbers, the henchmen duck whenever Hood shoots. They start to tremble as their own fall one by one, and the one man army before them continues to fight.

 

The smell of gunsmoke is omnipresent, choking out the breathable air, but Hood relishes it. 

 

This. This is Hood's element. This is where he shines.

 

His last clip empties, but Hood is fine with that. He looks at the last two henchmen, raises an eyebrow, and brains one upside the head with the pistol before kicking the other hard enough in the groin to make him pass out from pain. 

 

He freezes, though, as he hears footsteps behind him. He knows immediately who it is. "And how are you, Crane?"

 

There is dark chuckle. "Very well, thank you, Red Hood."

 

Jason cocks his head and turns around. He has seen the grisly mask enough to not even pause at the poor imitation of humanity. "Really? I must say I was expecting something more..." He trails off. If there is one thing he knows about Gotham's nutso villains, they love to talk.

 

As Scarecrow drones on (honestly, Jason has never listened to villain spiels; worst part of being a vigilante, in his opinion) Jason wiggles one of the hunting knives hidden in his gloves up and into his palm. Nodding encouragement when Scarecrow looks at him pointedly, as if to say, pay attention, he rolls his eyes behind the mask. And really, people thought he was insane.

 

Just as Scarecrow is finishing his thing about fear ruling all human action or some other crap like that, Jason decides that he has had enough and whips his arm around, launching the knife into Crane's shoulder. The force caused the villain who, admittedly, seems a bit off, to fall right on his rear.

 

Tying Scarecrow up and tossing him out the window where the dreadfully ineffective police were sure to find him (isn't he such a good brother?) Hood reaches up and tries his comm. "Nightwing. Come in, Nightwing."

 

He waits for a response and curses when he doesn't get one. "Nightwing! Crane is in custody, I repeat, Crane is in custody."

 

Against himself, Jason feels worry start to rise. "Nightwing! Come in! You son of a-Dick!"

 

Cursing continously, Jason begins to run, searching every room in the warehouse in search of his brother. His anxiety rises as door after door reveals only empty rooms. 

 

Memories rise, of another time trapped in another warehouse, with another Gotham bad guy. His blood chills.

 

No, he thinks determinedly. That is not happening again. The Joker isn't here. He is already present and looking for the missing.

 

The circumstances of his death will not be repeated.

 

His heart stops, however, when he finds the bomb in the basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, remind to never write Jason again. He just does not flow as well as Dick or Tim. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, regardless.
> 
> Leave comments or kudos or whatever, or hit me up on tumblr at savoirfairesuperhero.
> 
> Thanks y'all!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! *hides behind calculus folder* long time no see right??
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> In all honesty, sorry for the wait y'all. I won't bother with the empty platitudes of excuses, y'all know how school is, so just accept that this is the soonest I could possibly get a chapter out to you.

 

_In._

 

The fire roaring in the distance blazes black spots into Damian's vision.

 

 _Out_.

 

Dimly, he is aware of his uncle Tim yelling at Miss Martian to stay put, as he and Dami go to find Red Hood and Nightwing.

 

_In._

 

His breathing slows as a deadly calm spreads throughout his body, all his energy converging onto one single purpose.

 

 _Out_.

 

Find his father.

 

 _In_.

 

Robin races across the roof tops, the entirety of his being centered upon his goal. He draws ever closer to the blazing warehouse.

 

He refuses to allow himself you feel emotion.

 

 _Out_.

 

The breath leaves him as he sees two still figures not fifty yards from the warehouse, one a good ten feet further than the other.

 

He hears Tim cuss through the comms as the elder notes the stillness of the bodies.

 

All Dami can think is, 

 

Why does the universe hate our family so much? Why can't we just get a goddamn break?

 

~oOo~

 

Tim thought his heart just stopped when he saw the building burst.

 

Now the only thought in his mind is, not again.

 

Tim lands perhaps less gently than he ought to beside the bodies of his older brothers, biting back the need to curse like a sailor.

 

Dick lies about ten feet closer to the building than Jason. Oddly, he is laying on his back, limbs and extremities stretched wide, his body slightly off bakance, suggesting he had been doing some sort of physical motion with his entire body.

 

Jason, on the other hand, was flat on his face. One arm was crushed beneath his chest, the other laying by his side. One leg was pulled up close to his body, the other splayed out wide. A quick glance showed some road rash on the boy's forehead.

 

Time slows as Tim puts two and two together...

 

...

 

_Running._

 

_They must have been running. They must have known about the bomb._

 

...

 

He steps back and notes their path. He watches the spacing of the footsteps, noting the direction of the trunks of their bodies by the slight angles of their steps.

 

He paces forward, moving beyond the bodies, about thirty feet away from the building.

 

...

 

_Here._

 

_Dick stopped here to look, before running harder._

 

...

 

Tim retracts his steps, stopping five feet from Dick. He raises an eyebrow and considers everything he know about Jason and Dick's relationship.

 

...

 

_Dick knew that, while they may be able to beat the flames, they wouldn't be able to be the concussive force of the bomb._

 

_In a singular motion, he planted his forward foot, grabbed his little brother (ignoring his outcry) and allowed their bodies' momentum to propel Hood forward, Dick's body twisting in response to the movement._

 

_He needed to give his brother every foot he could. In a blast of this size, even inches could help._

 

_Not a second later, the bomb went off._

 

...

 

Tim scowls, his deductions having taken no more than 10 or 20 seconds. Curse Dick's self-sacrificing nature!

 

He falls to his knees beside Dick, noting with relief the faint groaning now coming from Red Hood.

 

He feels a faint heartbeat but the man remains unconscious. Suspecting internal injury from the force of the bomb (a moderate concussion, at the least) and noting the blood leaking out of various shrapnel wounds in his brother's sode, Tim puts a finger to his ear and calls the alien. "M'gann! Get the Bioship down here immediately! Wing and Hood in need of immediate medical care. I repeat, Bats are in need of medical care!"

 

Wrapping an ace bandage around the hero to staunch the bleeding, he moves to the other man, causing himself for forgetting to refill his suits medical supplies after the last mission gone wrong (or, really, the last mission, in general).

 

Jason got off easier than his brother; though no doubt still running the risk of internal injury, the very fact that the man was lying on his stomach rather than his stomach meant that less skim had been exposed to the shrapnel, and all the Batboys had a whole heckuva lot of protective gear on their backs due to the overall cowardly attitude held by many Gotham villains, pickpockets, and muggers.

 

Tim is vaguely aware that his nephew has fallen by Dick's side. He hopes to God that Dami doesn't blame himself for this as he did when Dick got de-aged. Heaven knows that everyone in the family suffers enough emotionally without adding in even more familial guilt.

 

Time flashes past as the Bioship lands and the eldest Batboys are loaded in. Red Robin begins to board himself before he notices Damian standing stock still, his brows furrowed in concentration.

 

Frowning, Tim makes his way to the boys side and places a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Robin, we have to-" Tim freezes as he too notices what the boy is staring at.

 

There, held to a telephone pole with an unmistakable electrically-charged bola, was Slade Wilson's signature mask.

 

~oOo~

 

Honestly, if Bruce's comm unit never goes off again with some league member informing him that one of his boys is in the hospital, it will be too soon.

 

Ignoring the zeta beam computer heralding his entrances the scowl beneath his cowl completely real, he paces to the infirmary, intent on seeing for himself that his two eldest are really "well on the way to recovery."

 

The doors automatically opening, Bruce feels his scowl begin to lessen in spite of his indignation at he still feels. There before him are his boys. The members of the Team has all been released quickly, having been sent home to rest.

 

Before he gets distracted, Bruce strides to the foot of the beds that Jason and Dick are on. Reading the medical reports posted, he reassures himself of his sons' physical wellbeing before giving in to his fatherly side.

 

Double checking to ensure that the infirmary doors were locked and that he had blocked all camera feed, Bruce pulled down his cowl, his scowl falling with it. Pulling off his gloves despite the inherent identification risks, Bruce feels the need to just feel that his boys were alive.

 

Moving first to Dick, Bruce cards his fingers through the young man's soft, black hair. The boy is laying on his back, his chest bare, displaying his plethora of injuries. A fresh mask is in place, no doubt from either his son or his brother, and he appears to be sleeping peacefully.

 

Bruce feels some of the weight lifting off his shoulders. Pausing to place a kiss on his grandson's forehead (Damian is curled into the Dick's relatively uninjured side) Bruce moves on to Jason's bedside.

 

Bruce smirks. Tim is splayed in a chair beside the prodigal son, his legs propped up on the bed, his computer falling off his lap, his head thrown back in a deep sleep.

 

Chuckling, Bruce gently removes the computer and slides it by the boy's chair, knowing that Tim waking without it immediately near by would not be a good thing. Shifting the boy slightly so that his neck won't hurt too bad when he wakes, Bruce turns toward Jason.

 

The boy, though obviously roughed up, doesn't appear to be in pain. Bruce and Jason had their disagreements, and they still would continue to in the future, but that didn't mean that Bruce enjoyed seeing the other man injured.

 

Satisfied that all of his birds were at least out of immediate harm's way, Bruce turns to leave, pulling his cowl up as he does so. A quiet voice behind him makes it stop.

 

"It was Deathstroke."

 

Bruce turns fully and meets the eyes of Red Hood. "What?" he asks, praying that he misheard the young man.

 

"Deathstroke was the one who set of the bomb," Jason says matter-of-factly. Somehow, he manages to look sober despite the fact that his younger brother's legs are spread about his lap.

 

Bruce remains silent, his cowl aiding in hiding his emotions.

 

"He wants Dick back." Jason scowls. "What is it with this family and villains wanting to apprentice them? Ra's, Joker, Talia, Slade..." The scowl deepens to a snarl. "Utterly ridiculous."

 

Bruce sighs and puts a hand on the boy's shoulder in a show of silent solidarity.

 

~oOo~

 

The next morning, mask fully in place, I face the Team, wondering why exactly I'm nervous in front of a group of teenagers when I routinely jump off of rooftops without even thinking.

 

Real brave, Nightwing. Honestly, the Gotham Rogue Gallery would be laughing their heads off at you.

 

I make eye contact with Artemis and decide firmly that I'd take a crazy Dr. Crane over an angry archer any day.

 

The Team is sitting around the kitchen when I walk in from the infirmary, my brothers and son trailing behind me. I wave a little as I draw their attention. "What's up, guys?"

 

I hear Red Hood chuckling behind me and ignore him, instead focusing on the Team's reactions. Miss Martian smiles at me and Wally gives a cheerful wave around his mouthful of breakfast burrito, but beyond that, everyone is stone faced.

 

Clearing my throat in a vain effort to force the awkwardness to abate, I pull Tim and Jason up to either side of me. "Allow me to introduce you to Red Hood and Red Robin, my brothers. And you've already met Robin."

 

The others continue to just sit there for a while, before Wally shrugs. Stepping forward, he shakes each of the heroes' hands in turn. "Dudes, nice to finally meet you."

 

Tim nods as his hand is shaken. Jason crushes the speedster's hand in a tight grip. "So you're the one Wing thinks of as his third little brother, huh?"

 

Wally shoots me an utterly surprised and yet delighted look. I think that the fact that I told my family about him must be more important to him than I ever thought. The redhead grins. "Yeah," he replies proudly. "I am."

 

He seems to consider the thought for a moment before smirking. "So does that make me your brother too?"

 

Tim's raised eyebrow was evident even with the mask. "Don't push your luck, kid."

 

The rest of the Team was watching this interaction with open Curiousity. Apparently deciding upon something, Aqualad steps forward, hand outstretched. "Thank you for coming to our aid."

 

The others follow in their leader's steps and, one by one, shake my brothers' hand.

 

Once the greetings are done, an uncomfortable silence settles over the group. No one seems to know quite what to say.

 

"Well," Hood suddenly announces, "I'm off. bad guys to shoot and stuff. You know how it is," he adds in Conner' direction, sending the confused Super a wink. Damian laughs at the clone's obvious discomfort as the zeta tube announces Jason's departure.

 

Tim sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, laptop gripped firmly under one arm. "I'd better go make sure he doesn't kill anyone." He turns to leave. "I'm in Gotham for an few days. See you at home, Wing."

 

Damian comes to stand by my side. "-Tt-"

 

I wince. Carefully, I make eye contact with each member of the Team, no matter how reluctant. "Sooooooo... what's up?"

 

Aqualad looked at me, hard.

 

"We've reached a decision."

 

Ouch. That didn't sound good. "Regarding?"

 

"You."


	7. Chapter 7

Well, this is honestly among the most awkward I have been in my life, including all of the times that I have had to dance with rich old cougars at Bruce’s parties. I suck on my cheek and purse my lips, placing my hands on my hips. “Well?”

The silence stretches on, each of the Team, including Wally, only giving me their best poker face. Or, well, in Wally’s case, a poker face around his mouthful of food. The sharp ding of metal rings as Damian begins to examine some of the birdarangs that he pulled from _somewhere_ (honestly, not even I know where the kid keeps all his crap).

Artemis and Kaldur make eye contact, seemingly deciding on something. I try not to shift my weight too much, not wanting to give away how much I actually still want to be involved with the Team. Kaldur sighs. “You are still a member of the League, correct?”

I pop my lips, ignoring Artemis as she rolls her eyes at the sound. “Yeah. At least, I think so. Haven’t exactly checked in lately. Been kind of busy.”

Rocket pinches the bridge of her nose, like an exasperated parent. “For goodness sakes, just spit it out, man.”

A faint smile appears on Aqualad’s face, and I try not to let myself get too hopeful at the sight. “We have found ourselves in need of a… den mother of sorts, while the League sorts themselves out after the New Year’s Disaster.”

A grin rises from my lips, paralleled on the bright face of a certain speedster. “Oh, really?”

The smile reaches Kaldur’s eyes. “We figured you wouldn’t mind filling in. After all, it is the least you could do.”

I bow theatrically, one arm sweeping wide, the other crossing my chest. “Of course, my good sir.” I wink at the gathered team members (‘-tt-‘ from Damian). “Mama Wing is on the case.”

Damian snorts and looks incredulous. “You all have no idea what you have just done.”

Zatanna’s eyebrows crinkle. “What do you mean?”

Casually twirling a birdarang, Robin sends it rocketing right past KF’s head, making the speedster squawk. “Nightwing is the ultimate mom friend.”

~oOo~

Following their declaration, everyone went home, eager for some down time (or at least, time spent fighting their local villains. After all, most of them, the Flashes, have built a kind of rapport with their villains.) As such, I am free to head home and spend some quality time with my family.

Damian had left Mount Justice pretty quickly after they had delivered the news, so I had the Batcave locker room to myself. Dumping my torn costume into Alfred’s ‘put your costumes here you melodramatic idiots’ hamper (I might be paraphrasing) I let the hot water beat into my back, easing out the tension and letting a small smile come to my face. Only half the weight of the world rests on my shoulders now, I joke to myself.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and leaving the shift off, displaying my bandages, I work my way into the manor proper, the smile turning malicious as I hear yells echoing throughout its halls.

“Drake, you f****** idiot, you just bombed me!”

“Dude, if Dick hears you talking like that in the presence of his _precious baby_ he’s going to murder you!”

“Oh, come one! It’s not like I was born yesterday, Uncle!”

“See, the kid’s on my side!”

“He’s nine!”

“Almost ten!”

“And you still BOMBED me!”

Trying to restrain a mad giggle, I race up to the media room to find my brothers and son engaged in a rather intense game of MarioKart.  Twin groans rise from Jason and Damian as Tim, smirking, crosses the finish line first.  Leaning against the door frame, I clap slowly. “Well done, Red Bird.”

He gives me a cheeky two fingered salute. “Thanks, Dickie bird.”

Damian points at me accusingly. “Father! Don’t fraternize with the enemy!”

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Jason tosses me a spare controller. “Ready to get your ass kicked, dude?”

Starting the next course, I give him a blank faced look. “Language.” The moment seems to pause, before my grin matches his own. “And you’re about to get yours handed to you on a silver platter.”

_27 games of MarioKart later…_

I groan as Jason’s hands go up in victory. “Take that, Princess Peach!”

Running a hand down his face, Tim sighs wearily. “And that puts Jason ahead fourteen to my seven, Damian’s five, and Dick’s singular victory.”

I cross my arms, pouting. “I’m winning at golf.”

Damian mockingly pats my arm. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Dad.”

My mouth drops in falsified shock, doing nothing at all to hide the amusement in my eyes. “Son! Wherever did you learn such biting sarcasm? I raised you better than that!”

Tim and Jason snort, but Damian doesn’t react. He simply looks me straight in the eyes and says, “It’s a Wayne thing.”

I bite my lip, trying to restrain my laughter, but then I make eye contact with Tim, and we both burst out laughing. Apparently contagious, Jason soon catches our humor, while Damian smirks proudly at us.

Making a split second decision, I reach out and drag him onto the ground. Laughing now, he looks at me, daring me, and I comply. In seconds, I have him roaring with laughter as I hit every spot that I know he is even vaguely ticklish in. The joy I hear in my baby boy’s laugh makes a genuine grin split my face, and I’m so caught up in it that I’m completely blindsided when Tim tackles me and starts to tickle me as well, Jason taking over from where I left off with Dami.

Our fun soon devolves into an all out tickle war, no holds barred, until we are forced to stop lest we aggravate out injustries. We all lay on the ground, panting and giggling, at times setting everyone roaring again.

This.

This is why I love my family.

It’s not a normal family, sure. It’s broken, and small, and distinctly lacking in all things feminine, but the times like this, when Tim relaxes, when Jay drops his barriers, when Dami isn’t afraid to let his uncles know that he cares for them, these are the times I live for.

I’m lying on the ground, grinning like an idiot, when my phone goes off. Glancing at the caller ID, I answer, doing a ridiculous British accent. “Ello, Grayson ‘ere.”

“Hey Dick, it’s the Wall-man.”

Scowling, Little D crawls onto my chest and curls up like a cat as I continue the conversation. “What’s up, dude?” I absently run my fingers through Damian’s soft hair.

“Well, I have today off, ‘cause Barry doesn’t want me to stress to much, andIwaskindofwonderingifyoumaybewantedtohangoutforalittlebit.” Apparently nervous, he subconsciously slips into super speed at the end, and I can’t quite catch what he says.

“Come again? One more time, dude, a little bit slower. Not all of us have super powers, you know.”

My poor attempt at a joke does what I intended, easing his nerves. He gives a breathless laugh. “Got it. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out today.”

I chuckle, and it intensifies when Damian hums contentedly on feeling the vibrations in my chest. Catching myself, I answer Wally, “Of course, dude! Just say the word! What do you wanna do?”

Complete silence on the other end of the line. It surprises me. Wally is always moving and always making noise. Before I can get too worried, however, he laughs. “Hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.”

“Hmm.” I look over at Tim and Jason, who were starting a pillow fight over their ongoing argument about the ethical use of blue shells. I grin as an idea forms in my mind. “How about you come over to my, well, my…dad’s place. My brothers, Damian and I are having an epic MarioKart tournament. We could use your lightning reflexes to destroy Red Hood’s lead.”

I can practically hear the happiness in Wally’s voice as he responds. “You got it, dude. Send me the address and I’ll be there in a flash.” I groan at the pun and he laughs as he hangs up. Setting my phone down, I glare at my brothers.

“We’re about to have company. Don’t you dare do anything _too_ embarrassing.”

By their matching grins, I know I have sealed my fate.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note: I'm kind of surprised no one has chewed me out for avoiding the whole Deathstroke encounter? I kind of thought it was a glaring omission... Whatever.  
> Tumblr: savoirfairesuperhero  
> FF: Boogalee99


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